


All Our Broken Pieces

by LadyDarkMoon (WitchyWishes)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bonding, Brain Trauma Car Accident, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, F/M, Gen, Growing Up Together, Learn to love again, Learning from mistakes, M/M, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff, Small Angsts & Struggle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 05:44:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16486958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchyWishes/pseuds/LadyDarkMoon
Summary: Dean keeps hoping it's just a bad dream, maybe some bad digestion as the Doctor explains the images in front of him. The lights seem fuzzy, there's a ringing in his ears. Is he even breathing?.There's no way-- no chance in hell, that after everything, a lifetime together now that Jimmy is gone, and in his place, awake in his body is someone new.What kind of name is Castiel anyways?!





	All Our Broken Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Reader;  
> While the events in this story may seem exaggerated, this is a heavily researched topic. It is also inspired from a brain trauma that occurred to a family member. Some things are possible when the brain undergoes trauma, amazing, incredible things.  
> I hope you enjoy the journey.

__

 

_The rain on the tin roof stirs Dean awake to a half-empty bed, the glow of a low lit lantern on the table casts shadows.  The aroma of rosemary chicken and cornbread suddenly make him aware of a darkening flint sky, as his stomach grumbles loudly.  Running a hand through his untamed locks, Dean blinks up at the wooden beams of the cabin._

 

_From the fireplace, the warm chuckle of his lover fills the space around him, “I can hear your stomach from here, sweetheart.” The now college graduate smiles, closing his eyes as he rolls over to bury himself in the smell of Jimmy's pillow. It washes over him like a cleansing, awakening him in every corner of his being._

 

_“Not my fault--” Dean grumbles, “someone insisted on more celebratory sex when I argued about skipping lunch.” Jimmy chuckles, turning the potatoes in their tinfoil wrapping before brushing his hands against his pants._

 

_“Well, aren’t you glad you have a wonderful man who cooks after such wonderful sex?” Jimmy coos and Dean hums happily, buried beneath the cotton linen. He really is lucky._

 

_Rolling over, his eyes adjust to the sight of his lover, shirtless, clothed in worn denim that hugs his thick thighs and curve of his round backside.  If there was ever anything Dean was sure about, it was that Jimmy was beautiful, with his sea blue crystal eyes and sun-kissed skin. He had been smitten the moment they met. There was power in his lean form, a presence in his movements and a soul that Dean was sure he would know anywhere, in this life and maybe the next, no matter who or what they became in their time after now.  Sighing softly, he admires his engagement band, so newly placed on his ring finger as the smell of burning wood and the sound of thunder outside in the distance ground him into the moment._

 

_They were finally going places, finally on track to a new life.  Dean’s heart was once again pounding in his chest._

 

_“I love you,” Dean says softly, and Jimmy places their food onto cool baking sheets against the small counter by the sink, gently. He turns, admiring his lover in the low light as the lightning illuminates the forest behind their cabin walls. Cut off, alone, secluded._

 

_Just them, this._

 

_“You're only saying that because I cooked for you. You were clearly starving to death while sleeping off your second orgasm...” Jimmy crawls across the bed, slipping his left hand into Dean’s, their rings touching as he hovers over the other man’s features, eyes sparkling. The light around him reminds Dean of a halo, “I love you too, Dean.”_

 

_Cupping Jimmy’s face as he falls back into the pillow, he guides Jimmy down into a tender kiss that quickly turns into something more. Their bodies entwine in rapturous adoration, the rain deafening against the tin where it falls. Jimmy’s voice ends up rolling with the thunder when he calls Dean’s name, sending him over the edge in chase of his own unravelling._

 

_Dean might never leave the bed they’re sharing._

 

_In the hours after their lovemaking, picking at cold chicken and barely covered in tangled sheets that smell of summer and ozone from the open window, Dean was convinced that nothing was ever going to make him love like he did now._

 

_It was always and only ever Jimmy, and it always would be._

 

_*********************_

 

Dean arranges the dozen fresh long-stemmed roses on the dining room table for the hundredth time and frowns when he pricks his finger unexpectedly. The china sparkles in the kitchen light as the high school shop teacher sucks at the small wound, the delicate pieces given to them by Jimmy’s mother when they married. She said they should own a set, even if Dean didn’t see why fancy plates with little blue flowers had to be a thing when they would only get dirty anyways.

 

Checking his finger, Dean flops into the chair and dials the last call in his log for what has to be the millionth time.

 

“ _You’ve reached Jim Winchester. I’m sorry I can’t take your call but leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”_

 

Dean takes a breath, waiting for the beep but is unexpectedly cut off by the automated indication it’s full. He ends the call with an audible swallow and glances at the clock worriedly. It’s nearly 8 pm. Surely Jimmy would have called him if something came up, this was so out of character.  Closing his eyes, his knee bounces wildly as he tries to think.

 

Did he forget something about tonight? Did Jim have a work meeting? A client?

 

When he still hasn’t thought of anything _(their dinner is probably now a cheesy, coagulated brick of pasta on the stove and garlic bread as hard as a rock)_ , in desperation he finally calls Sam.

 

“Dean? Why are you calling me, of all people, if you're supposed to be recreating your romantic high school sweetheart, youthful memories with Jimmy?”

 

There's a pause, as Dean feels nauseated at the reminder. This wasn’t the night he had planned, not when they were supposed to be reliving their engagement like a couple of saps.

 

“Please tell me you're there, Dean, and that this isn’t another butt dial mid-make out to fucking.”

 

“No. No, I’m here, I just...” Dean sighs, “Have you seen Jimmy? He never came home and I can’t reach him via his cell phone...”  If Dean hadn’t been nervous before, he certainly was now when Sam’s breath catches strangely over the line.

 

“You mean he isn’t with you?”

 

Dean shakes his head, like Sam’s supposed to be able to see him, as a rock falls into the pit of his stomach. He sinks into the chair suddenly feeling ridiculously small.

 

“I was just wondering if you knew when he left the office--if maybe he said something...” Sam knows that even if Dean’s voice sounds even, his calm is fading. Pulling himself up from the couch, Sam grasps his keys in his hand and grabs his coat.

 

“He said he’d be right behind me when I left the office, Dean, and since Jimmy isn’t the type of person to mess around on you or the kind of guy who avoids a fight because we both know he would _never_ miss an opportunity for make up sex...” Sam smiles softly at the thought before pausing to peer at the clock on the wall.

 

“I’ll go back and see if maybe something happened. He did seem pretty tired but was excited. Maybe he just fell asleep at his desk by accident. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s overworked himself to tie up loose ends in order to spend more time with you...”  

 

Dean stares at the clock again, guts twisting as his chest tightens. Maybe that’s exactly what happened. Maybe he’s just drooling on some poor bastard’s paperwork with his head tucked into the crook of his arm, neck sore as hell. Dean swallows. He knows how to fix a sore neck. He’d be more than okay with that. Maybe they could order pizza.

 

A knock on the door makes him jump suddenly.

 

“I hope you're--hold on, Sam. There’s someone here...” The porch light illuminates a figure, and Dean hopes to whoever might be above them watching that his adorkable husband just forgot his key. That this is all just some misunderstanding. “Probably forgot his key again…Should tie it to him.” Sam laughs softly, and Dean lets the tension ease from his shoulders.

 

What greets him on the other side of the frosted glass though, Dean never would have expected in a million years, as the car parked in the driveway idles, its lights bouncing off the garage where his Baby stays tucked away.

 

“Dean…I need you to--” He tightens his hand around the navy coloured napkin he grabbed in his surprise, the swan white-knuckled in his hand.

 

Jody is in full uniform, her eyes shining and full, contrary to what the blank expression garnered from years on the job refuses to convey.

 

“Jimmy...” Dean’s voice sounds so disconnected, blood pounding in his ears, as the world seems to stop spinning. The police officer steadies Dean by his shoulder, “Oh God...”

 

Dean’s cell phone bounces off the wooden step, Sam’s voice yelling through the speaker when the screen cracks. He doesn’t even need to hear what she was going to say before his nerves finally win out.

 

He vomits before she even gets a second chance to speak. His panic fills in the blanks.

 

_This isn’t happening..._

 

Jody lays her jacket across his shaking shoulders as she crouches to his left, her warm hands rubbing circles into the worn fabric.

 

_Happy Anniversary._

  
  
  
  
  



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